


The Morgue Files

by ohfreckle



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 08:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohfreckle/pseuds/ohfreckle
Summary: A collection of fics and snippets that will never be finished, but maybe still have some merit.





	The Morgue Files

**Author's Note:**

> I started this when the trailer came out, so it's been overtaken by the events of the movie. But I like it, if only for the fact that I was right and Loki still cares. A lot.

"I must admit this is quite entertaining, but did you have to choose somewhere so hot," Loki says, leaning back into his seat with a sigh. 

His damp tunic drags against his sweaty skin. Perhaps wearing so many layers wasn’t the wisest choice, but he quite likes his new outfit. The sunny yellow of his cloak fits right in with the audience, the lines of seats in the amphitheater blooming with bursts of bright pink, yellow and every color imaginable. 

A lazy wave of his hand and a servant seems to appear out of thin air, offering him a shimmering green drink. 

"We don’t often entertain guests of your descent in this realm," his host, the elusive Grandmaster, explains. Buried deep under the apology is an unmistakeable insult Loki chooses to ignore. "I prefer this place due to its rather lax law enforcement. And don’t you think that heat lends some authenticity, reminiscent of the days of the Great Roman Empire?"

Just what is it with gods and their fascination with that wretched realm of Midgard?

"Ah, yes, I understand how such kind of lenient prosecution might be helpful, considering the nature of your business here."

Loki admittedly doesn’t know all that much about what kind of business the Grandmaster conducts, illegal gambling and slavery possibly one of his lesser offenses. Some of the contestants definitely look less than happy to compete in this hellhole. But if there’s one thing that has always served him well it’s the uneasiness that befalls most people the moment they learn that their secrets might not be so secret after all. 

"I’m sure you do," the Grandmaster says, and damn if Loki doesn’t feel a little uneasy himself. "If you will excuse me now, I must attend to my other guests."

Despite the oppressive heat the air becomes much easier to breathe once Loki’s strange host has left the box. Loki exhales sharply and takes a sip of his drink. It’s sweet and potent, possibly an unwise choice in this heat. Loki downs half of his glass and waves for another. A little bit of liquid courage, nothing more. 

He doesn’t know what to make of the man, but he isn’t fool enough to make enemies with one so obviously powerful. Not, if the rumors are true, when he has something that belongs to Loki. 

The next contest starts, sending the crowd into a frenzy of cheers. It’s an uneven match and over much sooner than the audience would like. In another time and space an elf from Vanaheim is a worthy opponent, with his magic bound and without his bow, he doesn’t stand a chance against a man twice his size.

The round is ringing with boos and whistles when the poor sod’s body is dragged out, leaving a trail of red in the sand. Loki sighs and waves for another drink.

He’s on his third glass by the time it’s time for the main event. 

Deafening cheers welcome the first fighter into the arena and suddenly the sweet liquor in Loki’s mouth turns sour. He sets his glass down and leans forward, something that feels like dread filling his chest. Kolos the Invincible looks like something out of a nightmare, the ruins of his face proof of countless battles, his skin so pale it looks almost completely white except for the pinkish criss-cross of scars. 

Kolos strides into the round like a king, whereas his opponent is denied the same honors. He stomps into the arena as soon as the gate lifts with a barely audible whoosh. The lack of sound as it must have been in the old times is a little disappointing. Wood and iron as worn as the fighters themselves groaning to announce the gladiators would be a much more appealing setting. 

The new arrival doesn’t stop, doesn’t preen and present like Kolos. He barges right in, lifts his arms and unsheathes two massive swords that are strapped to his back. It’s a sight to behold, the thick muscles in his arms bulging with the weight of the weapons, the merciless sun glinting off the polished metal of the blades with a blinding glare. 

It’s wrong. Everything about it is wrong. 

Loki feels almost faint, as if he’s out of his skin and watching a grotesque unfold. 

Those fingers should be wrapped around warm, worn strands of leather, not cold and lifeless steel. Loki can almost feel it, the woven pattern a familiar press against his palm. He remembers the bite of it every time he pulled with everything he had to give and still the thrice-damned hammer wouldn’t give. 

To see Thor without Mjölnir—

And it is Thor, Loki feels it in every fibre of his being. It burns through him, that feeling of recognition, of belonging. It’s tinged with a hint of uneasiness that he didn’t recognize him the very moment Thor stepped through the gate, burning all the hotter for the rage that’s threatening to consume him. 

What have they done to Thor to pry Mölnir from his hands. How dare they lay hands on a god and turn him into—this?

So many battles, fought together and against each other, but Loki’s never seen Thor like this. Worn. Wild. 

Mortal.

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi on [tumblr](http://ohfreckle.tumblr.com/).


End file.
